Disposable
by spyder-m
Summary: "Her lips were cold, much like the blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. He cradled her fragile head within his hands, his voice cracking in an anguished cry. It sounded eerily like her name." Clone!Kurono/Reika. Spoilers for Ch. 357.


Disposable

_"His whole body bruised, he awakes_."

His head swam and fatigue pulled at his aching limbs as grogginess clouded the consciousness he struggled to cling onto. His eyes darted over the vast, barren wasteland frantically, bracing himself to fend off the inevitable attack from the enemy he had been battling just moments ago.

It did not come.

He was alive. By some miracle, he'd been fortunate enough to pull through, this far. After the damage he had sustained while fighting that alien, he couldn't, for the sake of his life, allow the darkness to pull him under once again again.

He shuffled painstakingly to his feet, as shallow breaths racked his tired, sore body. It was useless. There was no way that he could continue fighting, as exhaustion and the physical limitations of his body set it. At this point, he could barely support his own weight.

Yet, he had no other choice but to carry on. When faced with the notion of the Gantz balls ceasing to function as normal, he was able to appreciate just how imperative it was that he survived, and how precious life was. For, with no means of revival, it was possible he, they, could truly lose it forever.

She had defeated it.

Upon stumbling further through the rubble he had noticed the grotesque, hulking form of the alien, slumped inert. Its forehead had been impaled by the tremendous blade, the hilt of which was embedded solidly in the ground with enough force to crack the earth.

He released a slow, steady breath of relief at this realisation. The knowledge that their battle; at least, for the moment; was over. The war would continue to rage on indefinitely, but for the time being, their safety had been secured. In a way, he wasn't surprised. She had proven herself a formidable hunter in the past, having led the team in his absence, even clearing the game on more than one occasion. There was no question that he could rely on her. After he had been knocked unconscious, she had fought valiantly to protect him.

A trail of blood oozed from the corner of his noise and he wiped it away with a trembling hand. He could feel the liquid seeping pathetically from his suit, the evidence of the severe damage it, and subsequently he, had sustained in the turmoil. It was clear how close this battle had brought him realising a fate similar to the alien's, and many of those who had fought in the games before them. He was fortunate. He had initially brushed off her attempt to assist him, but if she hadn't come back hr might not be alive right now. In the end, she had saved him.

Yet, upon noticing her, sprawled lifeless against the wreckage, that he realised how dearly that act may have cost her.

His legs were more than willing to buckle, as he collapsed onto his knees and over her prone body, lying perfectly still. His arms burned as he reached with his remaining strength to gather her frail, immobile form within his grasp. He fought down the urge to wince over the sensation, focusing his attention solely on her. He could endure the pain.

Her condition was, obviously, much worse than his own, possibly critical; evident by the blood slowly pooling beneath her. His heart sank at the sight of the sticky fluid seeping from the deep gashes across her back, marring her skin. Severe wounds that he hadn't noticed initially.

In spite of how grim the situation appeared, he was unwilling to surrender so easily. The panic rose through his chest as he cried her name, his hands shaking her on impulse, violently, desperately, at her lack of response. His stomach lurching uncomfortably, the erratic palpitations of his chest rang throughout his entire body. He stripped the gloves from his hands deftly, bare fingers stroking her temple in search for a pulse, some sign of being from within her. His eyes watering, he pumped his hands frantically against her chest in a steady rhythm, hoping somehow to resuscitate her.

He couldn't let her die.

Not like this.

He had seen it before, numerous times. Or at least, the memories of a similar scenario were stored within his memory. The ones he had gained from the original Kurono Kei. He had long since become desensitised to the violence and casualties that accompanied hunting in that game, fighting for survival.

Kishimoto, Kato, the old man, Sei, Nishi... He'd witnessed them all go, at one point or another. Even if, in some cases, their departure had only been temporary, it never made it any less painful to endure. In fact, if anything, the unique circumstances surrounding the battles they had fought on a daily basis were far more horrific, as; in many cases; they would see the ones close to them die, over and over again. The significance of such a loss never seemed to register in this game. At least, not to anyone beyond the players themselves. For they had all fallen into the same hellish nightmare; they were nothing more than mere, expendable data. The ability to revive them, had filled him with joy, and a purpose to carry on surviving each hellacious hunt. Yet, it also reinforced the idea that their existence was no more than an entity that could be created or destroyed with a simple command. The tragedy of death was cheapened. Their lives were worth no more than the points they fought so desperately to attain.

Now, the circumstances of such a loss carried more weight, for there was no way to revive them. The Black Balls no longer worked.

All of them were lost. Gone.

For good.

Her lips were cold, much like the blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. He cradled her fragile head within his hands, his voice cracking in an anguished cry.

It sounded eerily like her name.

His life was artificial, an imitation. He had no right to a home or to love the one to whom his heart ached, for they belonged to another. This young woman had been his life's only hope for meaning, possibly even happiness. Yet now, she was no more.

He told her he had always loved her, but was unsure as to how much weight the confession actually carried. Perhaps he had wanted to comfort her, to seek forgiveness for the horrible words he had spoken to her in their parting moments. He was unsure. He had never intended to deliberately hurt her, but instead hoped his apparent indifference might discourage her from fighting alongside him.

He wanted her to stay safe.

Her life was not worth risking, not like his own. He was nothing more than a copy; a needless embodiment of that same expendable data, and certainly didn't want her to die on his account. His creation had been rash, something immediately recognised as a mistake. No one would mourn his passing. For, as far as they were concerned, Kurono Kei would still be alive.

Yet even through his ill treatment of her, her heart had remained steadfast and loyal, as always. Her dying actions had fulfilled the promise she made in the beginning; she had protected him. She had given him love and life, when his mere creation had doomed him from having any semblance of either. She had even gone as far as willingly sacrificing her very existence so that he could hold onto his.

His farce, his imitation.

He was her responsibility forever.

Pulling her broken form into his arms, he openly wept. Mourning the loss; both of her life and his own.


End file.
